


For a Better Tomorrow

by axmaree



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Assassin Pidge, Cyberpunk, Gen, M/M, Rebel Leader Shiro, Secret Rebel Hunk, Space Pirate Keith, Space Pirate Lance, Team as Family, eventual Klance, they still get the lions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:09:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22405489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/axmaree/pseuds/axmaree
Summary: In a world long since controlled by the oppressive Galra, assassin Pidge Gunderson is tasked with the impossible: take out notorious space pirate Lance McClain, the Milky Way Galaxy’s most wanted criminal, in exchange for information on her missing brother. But when she gets caught in the crossfire of a heated battle between Lance, his rival Keith Kogane, and a host of Galra battleships, all plans of killing either of them fall apart. Forced to retreat, the three outlaws must join up with rebels Shiro and Hunk in a last ditch effort to save their own hides… and the universe as well.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 29





	1. An Impossible Task

Pidge Gunderson, self-proclaimed "deadliest assassin" and the Milky Way Galaxy's number three most-wanted criminal, hated the smell of the city.

Well, mainly just the lower part; the part that hosted Steel City's biggest lowlifes, top criminals, and every other shady bastard that Pidge ever encountered. The Rust District, it was so affectionately nick-named. Trash littered the sides of the empty roads, tumbling over itself in the hot, sticky wind, wafting fumes that smelled older than herself into her face. Dark alleys with men wearing battered leather trench coats and hats tipped over their bloodshot eyes beckoned, offering their wares—drugs, weapons, poisons—to anyone who gave them a passing glance.

Pidge pulled the thick hood she wore farther over her head, obscuring the face she knew looked too young for this part of town. Information streamed over the shiny lenses of her glasses, invisible to everyone except her. Records over anyone stupid enough to show their face from under torn hats and hoods; names, addresses (if they even had one), and any warrant out for their arrest.

A catcall sounded from one of the alleys, a man with a cigarette hanging from his lips and a grin missing at least four teeth. Pidge grimaced and kept walking, paying him no heed, but his calling continued.

She let the knife hidden up her sleeve slip into her hand, light reflecting off the steel and into his eyes. His calling stopped abruptly and a small smile graced Pidge's lips. _Serves you right._

A flickering neon sign signaled she had arrived. The arrow, bent awkwardly at the end, pointed at a battered door. She pushed it open and stepped inside.

The smoke hit her before anything else did—a mix of cigarettes and bliss, the newest underground drug on the market, the sickly-sweet scent blending horribly with the bitter tang of cigarette smoke. The air was so thick with it that she could hardly see, and the dim lighting did nothing to help. A bar tender poured drinks at the dinky wooden counter, covered in scratches and chips where countless fights most likely broke out on the daily. Patrons of all shapes and sizes sipped drinks and listened to the staticky music crackling out of the speakers mounted to the walls.

The air was sticky with the thick smoke. It clung to Pidge's skin like oil and weighed down the already-stifling cloak she wore. The clothes she wore—thin, durable leather that would hold up in a fight—didn't help.

Pidge sat at the counter, the stool creaking as she settled onto it. She grimaced as the scrawling words on her lenses informed her that the smoke concentration in this room was far above optimal and would start to affect her head soon. She had to make this quick.

Someone in a similar cloak settled into the stool next to her and flagged down the bartender with a gloved hand. "Old-fashioned, please."

Pidge straightened ever so slightly. "One for me as well."

She felt the other man's grin rather than saw it, and her shoulders tensed. The knives strapped to her—under her sleeves, pants—and the mini blaster hidden under the folds of her cloak suddenly felt heavier.

"So, we meet at last," the man said after the bartender walked away. His voice was soft and velvety, the voice of a man who knew who he sat with and still felt safe.

Pidge said nothing, opting to let him talk instead. _Get a feel for them_ , her brother's voice whispered in her head, a distant memory of a time long ago, _let them reveal more than you._

"So quiet," the man observed. "You and I will get along just fine."

The bartender brought their drinks. The man grabbed it with delicate fingers and swirled the coppery liquid around the glass. Pidge watched his movements, trying to glean anything she could from them. He took a sip. "Not very good, but better than I expected." He eyed her hands, still resting on the counter. "Not touching yours?"

She had to keep her head clear. Her alcohol tolerance was low because of her age and size, but she couldn't look suspicious. She took a careful sip of the drink.

The man smiled. "Shall we take this somewhere more private?"

Pidge suppressed a shudder. His voice unnerved her, and the way he spoke… "yes."

He dropped his payment for the two drinks on the counter and led her to a table in the corner of the bar, far less smoky than the counter. They sat facing each other, neither removing their hoods. He took another drink of the whiskey. "I have an important job for you."

Pidge chuckled. How dramatic. "I would assume so, considering the hidden identity."

His mouth, the only part of his face Pidge could see, tightened. "I could say the same about you."

She laughed again and took a deliberate sip of her drink. _Stay relaxed._ "It shouldn't surprise you that I don't show my face."

"Perhaps," he replied. "What is surprising is your size. I wasn't expecting an assassin so… small."

Pidge smirked. She'd heard this before. "Nobody expects that."

He shrugged and swirled the glass around in his hand. "I suppose you're right." He took a long drink, draining the last of his glass. "But I digress, I need you to… take out a particular thorn in my side. How much do you charge?"

"Depends on who the thorn is."

He sighed. "A pirate."

Pidge grimaced. A space pirate, one of the many that roamed their galaxy. Ever since the Milky Way was turned into a trade outpost for the Galra empire, long after they exhausted their use of the inhabitants as slaves, countless pirates joined the massive cargo ships in transit between systems. Most weren't super well known or successful, but that didn't mean they weren't damn difficult to track down. If she was lucky, she could catch them while they were docked on Earth, but usually she had to hitch a ride on a cruiser and wait for them to come to her. It wasn't impossible—she'd taken down a few before—but it was difficult.

"I need a name," Pidge told him.

"Lance McClain."

She froze.

Lance McClain. _The_ Lance McClain. The Galra's number one most wanted, a spot Pidge had coveted for years. The most well-known pirate in this galaxy, maybe even on this side of the universe. The elusive, cunning, charming, and absolutely deadly Lance McClain. He had more successful heists to his name than most obscure pirates had _combined_. He was ruthless, and brilliant, and took down Galra cruisers and cargo ships with ease. Thousands of people had it out for him, and hundreds had died trying to take him out. Going after him was suicide.

"No."

The man tensed. "What?"

"I said no," she repeated. "You're asking for me to go on a suicide mission."

"Are you not the best?" He hissed, white teeth flashing under his cloak.

"I _am_ the best," Pidge snapped. "And I'm smart enough to know that I will _die_ if I try and take down McClain."

She could feel the man's anger rolling off him in waves. His grip on his glass tightened. "No one is immortal, not even McClain."

"Keep your voice down!" Pidge hissed as a man's red-eyed gaze slid to them. He blew a puff of smoke in their direction and turned back around. She leaned closer to the man and lowered her voice. "He is impossible to reach and, even if I could get past his defenses, he is a _hell_ of a fighter. So no."

The man bared his teeth. "So you're _refusing?"_

"Yes," Pidge fired back. "I'm refusing. No amount of money you pay me will be enough. We're done here."

She shoved away from the table and stood.

"What if I told you I have information on where your brother is?"

She froze. Her heart skipped a beat. "What."

She heard his grin in his voice. "You kill Lance McClain, I tell you what I know about your brother."

It was impossible. No one knew where Matt was, and he was most likely dead. The Galra caught him almost two years ago and most outlaws were dead before they even hit the work camps. And on top of that, no one knew that _Pidge Gunderson_ was related to Matt Holt. There was no way this man knew where he was, and yet… "how." She turned around.

A flash of purple skin under the delicate cloak sleeve, deliberately shown. Pidge stiffened, hand reaching for the blaster at her belt. The man chuckled. "Don't be so worried, I am breaking just as many laws as you by meeting you here."

Pidge slid back into her seat, hand still resting on the gun. "And I'm supposed to believe that."

The man reached for Pidge's drink and took a sip. "I'm not telling you to believe anything. Just know that none of my men can take out McClain, so I had to settle for… other methods."

That was her. She was always the "other method," but it was never for the Galra. Always for humans. As much as she considered herself with no allegiance to either group—rebels or Galra—she was always far fonder of her own species. Especially since she lived under Galran rule. "What's stopping me from torturing you for information now."

The man chuckled and set the now-empty glass down. "The communicator on my wrist. The uproar that would start at my death. Your head on a pike." He shrugged. "Your choice."

Pidge's mouth tightened. Going after McClain was still a death wish, and there was a very low chance that she'd even be able to get to him at all, but Matt… "I think we might be able to work something out."

That man grinned. "Perfect."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At long last, it's here, the Voltron Cyberpunk AU I've been hinting at for over a year! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter and are excited for what's to come.


	2. Lounges and Labs

Hunk Garrett took pride in his lounge.

The place had a certain charm to it. The dim but still perceptible lighting, the neon that ran under the counters and around nooks in the wall, the long couches and tables… it was as much home to him as his own apartment was.

The patrons were a part of why he enjoyed it so much, of course. He was proud to say that no Galra ever stepped through his doors. Every member was human, and the only requirement they had to stay was to be respectful. All patrons knew that they could be evicted at a moment's notice by the plenty of employees Hunk had on hand.

He nodded towards a young woman—a regular customer, who always had gossip to share—lounged on one of the couches. She smiled at him and went back to talking to the group she sat with.

Hunk turned towards the long wall of bottles behind him. Rows and rows of drinks wrapped around a cylinder in the middle of the bar, his counter wrapped around with it. It glowed softly behind the drinks, colors fading into others every few moments. He eyed a bottle on the top shelf, one that was only opened when a certain customer came in, and smiled at the memory. Lance McClain, paying for his entire crews' drinks after a successful raid, talking loudly with the widest grin Hunk had ever seen on a person.

The space pirate was charming, Hunk had to admit. A dangerous, cunning, and bloodthirsty criminal, but charming, nonetheless. And, as long as he put good coin into Hunk's pockets, Hunk wouldn't tell a soul he was there.

McClain hadn't been around in a while, though, and the last Hunk heard he was looting his way through the far side of the Milky Way, taking out Galra ship after Galra ship. Another reason Hunk never reported him to the authorities when he came by. _The enemy of my enemy is my friend._

Hunk continued to serve drinks as the night wound down and patrons flitted in and out. It was late at night—or early in the morning, rather—when the buzz of the lounge finally died down to just a few people. He contemplated closing for the night when a thump sounded at the counter behind him.

Confused, he turned around. Usually people sat on the side nearest to the door, and he was around the other side of the large cylinder, out of sight from the other customers. A hooded figure sat hunched over the bar, small and lithe under the cloak. He was about to ask what they wanted when he noticed their gloved hand tapping away on the counter. He sighed. "Pidge, you really should come by _after_ I close shop."

She lifted her head and pulled the hood back. "Couldn't wait. Give me something to drink."

Hunk poured her a drink and passed it to her. "You're going to pay me this time, right?"

She waved her hand. "Yeah, yeah."

He sighed. Pidge only came by when she was frustrated or upset, and often times it was about her… _work._ Work that Hunk couldn't discuss with her out in the open. He wanted to ask what was wrong, but… "I'll close up soon, and then we can talk."

She mumbled in reply. He walked to the other side of the wraparound counter and served his last few drinks before announcing closing. Once everyone had left (some walking, some stumbling), he locked the door and closed the curtains.

Pidge sat on one of the couches now, holding a refilled glass. Hunk grabbed his own drink and sat down across from her. "Okay, what's wrong."

She shook her head and took a drink. After a bit of silence, she said, "I got a new job yesterday."

Hunk quirked an eyebrow. So this _was_ about work. Good thing he'd closed up. "And?"

She went silent again, staring into her glass. He was about to ask again when she said, "I've been hired to kill Lance McClain."

Hunk almost choked. He began coughing and she looked up, alarmed. He held up a finger. Finally, the coughing ceased, and he looked up at her with watery eyes. "You're joking."

She shook her head.

A million thoughts raced through his mind at once. McClain was unkillable, his ship unsinkable. Everyone who had tried to take him out so far was _dead_. "Katie that's suicide!"

She cringed. "Don't call me that."

"You're going to your death if you go after him," Hunk continued, ignoring her discomfort. "What the hell could've possibly convinced you to take the job?"

She looked at him with burning eyes. "The client has information on Matt."

Hunk stopped short. _What?_

Matt Holt, missing for almost two years and presumed dead, buried away in some Galra prison camp. Hunk had long since given up hope of finding him after his capture, and he assumed Pidge had too. How long had she held onto hope?

Matt and Katie Holt were once names that were well known by all. The Holt siblings, two of the deadliest assassins out there. They almost always worked together, were formidable in a fight, and no one knew what they looked like save the people they killed and the very select few they interacted with. They weren't the most wanted by any means—other, more experienced hitmen held much higher spots on the most wanted list—but they worked fast and charged less.

But when Matt Holt was caught in a solo job, arrested, and thrown in prison, Katie Holt disappeared. Very few knew what happened to her; now that he thought about it, Hunk might be the only one. Rumors flew, but no one could find her. As the manhunt for Katie Holt ensued, a new name, Pidge Gunderson, rocketed to the top of the most wanted list. The Holt siblings were lost to memory.

"Matt?" Hunk spluttered. "How would he have information on Matt?"

Pidge fidgeted with her hands, pulling at the gloves. "He was Galra."

Hunk froze. "Pidge-"

"I know, I know, okay?" She ground out. "Matt would kill me if he was here, I know the drill, but can you say he wouldn't do the same for me?"

Hunk opened his mouth, but nothing came out. She was right, Matt would've done anything to get her back if she was missing, even if it meant his own death.

She finally met his eyes, and they were filled with a spark he hadn't seen since Matt was captured. "I don't like it either, Hunk, but I have to."

He sighed. She always won him over in the end. "Okay, but at least let me help somehow."

"I'm not sure you can."

He eyed her right hand. "I can at least take a look at that, see if it needs any tune-ups."

Pidge pulled the glove off, revealing the shiny metal hand underneath. She studied it, opening and closing her fist and flexing her fingers. The prosthetic still looked fairly new, with only a few scratches here and there. Pretty good for over a year of constant use. "Is it responding okay? No random spasms?"

She shook her head. "It works fine." She flexed her fingers again before pulling the glove back on.

When she lost her hand, Pidge was furious. The only way to get reliable prosthetics was by paying a ton of money—more than she could afford—and now she would have a distinct feature that could easily identify her in a crowd. She had come to Hunk to vent, but it didn't take him long to realize he could make her a prosthetic. It wasn't his area of expertise by any means, but he had to admit that he was proud of it.

Hunk wasn't satisfied with her response. "I'm going to check it up anyways. Come by tomorrow morning."

She rolled her eyes at his concern, but he knew she was secretly grateful for it.

They talked for a bit, but it didn't take long for Pidge's eyes to start drooping. When Hunk brought it up, she denied it, but not even two minutes later she was drifting in and out of consciousness. When she finally fell asleep, Hunk lifted her too-tiny body and carried her up the stairs into his home that rested above the lounge. As gently as he could he set her on the couch and pulled a blanket over her.

Watching her chest rise and fall, he sighed. Pidge was far too young for the life she led, and he told her this often. 18 was not the age to take murder contracts, nor was any age for that matter. He'd offered her a place to stay and a steady job working with him once she turned 18 multiple times, but every time she turned him down, even after she came of age.

They were both too young for any of the garbage they went through, he supposed. He was only 21, supplying illegal weaponry to rebel groups and running a bar as a front. But the Galra had forced them into their situations, and the only way to change it was to fight back.

Hunk lied awake for a long while, worried for life of the young girl asleep on his couch.

* * *

"There," Hunk backed away from the computer wired into Pidge's hand. "That should be it."

"Cool," she detached the wires and hopped off the table. She approached the computer, reading the lines of numbers and words on the screen. "I could've done some of it myself, y'know." Her eyes met his. "Let you work on more important things."

He waved his hand. "You're important."

Pidge felt her face heat up. "Whatever."

Hunk laughed and handed her the glasses resting on the table. She put them on, thankful for the familiarity. "Those are really cool. How'd you make them?"

"A magician never reveals her secrets." She wiggled her fingers.

Hunk rolled his eyes. "Tell me another time then."

Pidge nodded, and Hunk returned to his computer.

Hunk's workshop was well lit despite it being underground. Lights ran all along the ceiling, and even more were strung up along the walls in places where he needed extra lighting. Some worktables had lamps as well. Parts, wires, and scrap metal littered the tables, mixed in with his tools. One wall housed a long shelf filled with various gadgets and instruments that Pidge often found herself ogling. Usually she wanted nothing more than to stay here and help Hunk build, but she almost never had the time.

Pidge picked up a half-finished gun resting on a table. It looked a little like her own blaster, except longer and thinner. "What's this for?"

Hunk glanced over his shoulder. "Oh. Takashi Shirogane ordered it."

"Huh." Pidge set the gun back down.

Takashi Shirogane. Another name everybody knew. Leader of the rebellion and number two on the most-wanted list. Pidge had never met him personally—Matt had, once—but she knew enough about him to know that she would be stupid to get on his bad side. There was a reason she never accepted any contracts concerning his rebels.

For the longest time after he began his group, Pidge thought him an idiot. Every rebel group before his was crushed, and to form a new one was certain death. But as the years went on and the Galra still had not caught him, nor had any idea what he even looked like, Pidge came to respect him.

"So," Pidge turned around and leaned against the table. "How should I get to McClain?"

"Don't ask me," Hunk replied, not looking up from his work. "I'm not getting involved. McClain is dangerous."

Pidge crossed her arms. "So am I."

"Another reason I'm not getting involved, then," Hunk said. He turned and pointed a screwdriver at her. "Two dangerous people don't make a safe environment."

Pidge rolled her eyes, but she couldn't stop the smile that broke out on her face. Damn Hunk and his ability to make her smile.

"I know I can't change your mind," Hunk said, turning back around to his worktable. "But please, Pidge. Please be safe."

Pidge glanced down at her hand and sighed. "I'll do my best."

Hunk sighed but said nothing.

* * *

Lying on her bed in her run-down apartment, Pidge wanted nothing more than to pass out right then and there, but she needed to plan. Her mind ran at 90 miles an hour, going through idea after idea on how to get to McClain, the sneaky bastard.

She played with her blaster, swirling it around her fingers. It kept her body from completely giving into exhaustion while she thought. At least McClain had a recognizable face; she couldn't say the same for some of the other notorious pirates out there.

Pidge sighed and rolled over to face her laptop. "Show me cargo routes for this week."

Her computer beeped and the projector clicked on, showing a detailed map of Galra cargo ships across the galaxy. She scanned the map, swiping her hand across the floating blue projection to change the view.

_C'mon, c'mon…_

_There!_

A tiny little cargo ship, checking in in four days before getting back on its route to the other side of the galaxy, near McClain's last sighted position. Its cargo was "classified," which made it the perfect target for McClain. Its size would make it difficult for her to stow away, but it was her best shot at reaching the pirate. She hoped that he had the same trade map as her.

Pidge shut off the projector and set her blaster on the bedside table. She could continue planning in the morning. Already, sleep clawed at the edges of her vision. With a yawn, she shut off her lamp and snuggled into the blankets. Sleep took her in minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2! Hunk's introduction to the story. I can't wait for you guys to meet the others.
> 
> If you want, drop a review! I read them all, promise!!


	3. Captain

"No, no, not there! Can't you just—okay, look, it's really not that hard—no!"

Lance McClain, the most feared and respected pirate on this side of the universe, really needed a drink.

And if his crew didn't get their shit together, then he was _really_ going to need a drink.

They'd just finished a successful raid on a particularly valuable Galran ship, but for some reason, they couldn't find a good place to land to readjust their new cargo. All the landing spots his pilots had gone for so far were too precarious for his liking.

His first officer, William, shoved away from his station and spun around to face him. "Okay, _captain,_ where would you have us land?" He gestured furiously to their view, which showed nothing but unstable ground.

Lance threw his hands up. "I don't know! Not here, that's for sure."

"Then you take the reins," William snapped, crossing his arms.

Lance stalked to the helm.

It took him longer than he anticipated, but he eventually found a decent landing spot. Once he landed the ship, William stalked over to the helm. They glared at each other for a few moments before William cracked a grin. Lance erupted in laughter, and William joined him.

"You're a hot-headed bastard," William said.

"I should say the same for you," Lance replied.

William shoved his shoulder. "It's why we work so well together. Now c'mon, I want to see what we got."

With another laugh, Lance followed William out of the main deck and down into the cargo hold. New, shiny boxes greeted him when he entered. Already, his crew dug through some of them, pulling out various weapons and parts.

William whistled. "How much you think we'll make on this one?"

Lance picked up a blaster part and weighed it in his hand. "Depends on if we can avoid Kogane before docking."

"Last I heard he wasn't anywhere near here," William said. "I think we'll be fine."

Lance shot him a narrow look. "Don't jinx us."

William picked up a small blaster and hooked it on his belt. "That's m'job, captain."

Lance cracked a grin.

He pried the top off another box and peered inside. He hissed in surprise at the sight of the explosives. Wherever the Galra ship had been headed, Lance had just spared them from a merciless fate.

"You think Shirogane'll buy these?" One of his crew, Conrad, who everyone called Slick, asked.

"You know he's got a soft spot for Kogane," William answered for him. "Probably won't give us what they're worth."

Lance couldn't argue with that. While Shiro was mostly fair to them, he'd always harbored sentiment to Lance's biggest rival. While he tried not to let that get to him, some of his crew were rubbed the wrong way by it. He couldn't blame them, really.

"Even if he doesn't, we'll make a ton," Lance reassured. "This haul is too good to pass up."

Slick hummed in agreement.

Lance resealed the explosives box.

They dug through the rest of the boxes, mostly filled with parts, before going to various parts of the ship. Lance and William went back to the main deck to assess any damage their ship sustained.

"She's lookin' alright," William said from his station. In front of him was a map of the ship. Thankfully, only a few parts blinked in warning. "Just the normal things. We should be fine until our next dock."

Lance nodded.

"Lance," William said, pushing away from the screen to face him. It was the first time he'd used his name all day. "Have you figured out what we're going to do with the… y'know…"

No, Lance had not figured out what to do with their spoils from last week's big raid. Nor did he want to think about it, even if the issue breathed down his neck every hour of the day. He shook his head, and William sighed. "You can't ignore it forever."

He knew it, but that didn't stop him from trying. "I have no idea what the hell that thing even _is_ , Will."

"Lance-"

"And I don't like how it makes me feel when I look at it," Lance interrupted. William glared at him. "Look, just," he sighed. "I'll think about it. But not right now."

William sighed but didn't protest.

Lance slumped down into Slick's station, facing William. "It scares me. It scares me, and I hate that."

William didn't smile or try to crack a joke like he normally did. He just looked out onto the desolate planet around them. "I know, captain."

* * *

When Lance reached hour two of not being able to sleep, he decided that walking around the ship was better than lying in his bed. He didn't bother changing out of his pajamas—they were so comfortable, so why would he? —before leaving his room to wander the empty halls.

He should've expected it, but he was still surprised when his legs took him to the lower level of the cargo hold.

Right to where last week's haul waited.

Staring up at the massive blue lion robot, Lance wanted nothing more than to curl back up under his covers and forget it even existed. But William was right—he couldn't just ignore this thing forever.

With a sigh, Lance approached the lion. Ever since they'd brought it onto the ship, Lance's dreams had been filled with giant mechanical lions and a massive robot. As cool as it sounded, it didn't feel all that great to Lance. The dreams were too vivid, and they left him feeling like he'd spent the whole night running a marathon.

And now, as he approached the lion, that weird feeling like something took up camp in the back of his mind came back. He tried to shove the… whatever it was away to no avail; it seemed determined to stay. He shuddered.

"Hey… kitty," he said. It didn't respond. "I see you're still hanging out."

 _What am I even doing?_ Lance thought. _Talking to a giant robotic cat. I'm going crazy._

He tried to ignore the fact that the presence in his mind hummed in response.

"Could you tell me… what you are?" Lance asked. He held his hands out, palms up in surrender. "None of the others can feel it. I don't know if I'm going crazy or…" He trailed off.

The presence in his mind hummed again. Despite how weird it felt, it was oddly comforting. It still wasn't an explanation, though.

"Come on! I just need some answers!"

When nothing changed, Lance threw his arms up and stalked out of the cargo hold, back up to the main deck. He was not about to beg and plead to a giant robotic cat in the middle of the night. If it didn't want to answer him, then so be it. He had better things to do.

As soon as he left the cargo hold, his frustration dissipated. His shoulders slumped as he slunk his way through to the dark halls back to his room. Back to right where William stood, arms folded across his chest.

"Not now," Lance protested. "I just need sleep."

"Were you down in the cargo hold?" William asked, ignoring Lance's request.

Lance shoved past William and into his room, letting the door go behind him. William caught the door and followed Lance inside. Lance's hand curled into a fist. Couldn't he see that he just wanted to be alone?

"Lance."

Lance spun around to face William. "It's _Captain_."

William rolled his eyes. "Don't pull that mess on me."

Lance tried to hold onto his edge, but he couldn't. He deflated and collapsed onto his bed with a sigh. William sat on the edge. "You gonna talk now?"

"I didn't get any answers, okay? Nothing."

William's shoulders slumped. Lance knew he was just as curious as him. Will was the only person on his crew who knew the extent of what that lion had done since it'd been on board. He was concerned for the crew's safety, as was Lance.

"You think Shirogane'll know something?" William asked.

Lance shrugged. "Worth a shot. We just have to be careful of what we say."

William nodded. "Good, because we're gonna try and contact 'im tomorrow."

Lance made a note of that and rolled over. "Now, let me sleep before I order you out."

William chuckled. "Yes, captain."

Not long after his bedroom door clicked shut, Lance drifted off to sleep.

* * *

They never got the chance to call Shirogane the next morning.

Mainly because his crew spent the entirety of it dodging Galra attack after Galra attack.

"You really think they'd have enough weapons to spare a few!" Slick shouted as their ship shook for what felt like the millionth time that day. Across the deck, someone yelped and fell out of their seat.

"No sure it's the weapons they're after!" William called back. He held onto his station for dear life, trying his best to steer them out of the way of the blasts.

With a cry, Slick shoved his handles forward. Their cannon fired directly into a Galra ship, taking out the main deck. Slick whooped in victory before setting his sights on another cruiser dead ahead.

"Can we warp out of here?" Lance shouted to William.

William wiped sweat off his forehead. "Not yet, Captain. Two cruisers in the way."

"Slick! Maya! Clear a path," Lance ordered. "We gotta get out of here."

They nodded once and focused on the two massive ships in front of them. Lance watched their targets focus in. Without their two main cannons focusing on the ships at their sides, every second felt like agony. They were wide open, but there wasn't another option. They weren't a match for five other ships.

"Steady, steady…" Slick whispered.

The target locked.

"Now!"

They fired simultaneously, their shots intermingling on the front screen. They hit dead-on, and Lance cheered.

"Will, get us out of here!"

William didn't hesitate. He slammed his fist down on his screen and, with a jolt, their ship entered warp. Lance stumbled and fell back into his seat, gripping the arm rests for dear life.

"They're following us!" William shouted.

Lance swore and grabbed his handles. He didn't normally like to take full control of the ship, but this time he had no choice. "Hold on!"

Lance yanked hard on the handles and thrust them to the right, sending most of his crew out of their seats. He spun the ship out of the Galra's line of sight and then down towards a nearby star system. With one last shove, he sent the ship around a planet and out of the system, effectively shaking the Galra off their trail.

William pulled himself back into his seat and whistled. "That was some impressive flying, captain."

Slick stood with a grimace. "If by _impressive_ you meant _almost deadly_ , then yeah."

Lance just laughed.

William took them to a nearby planet to land and check damages. Already, Lance knew this would set them back a few days at least. They had enough stolen parts on board to fix most issues, but that still took time. Time they really didn't have.

Thankfully, when Lance went out to check the exterior, the ship had sustained minimal cosmetic damage. _The Amphitrite_ still shone like new. Repairs wouldn't take as long as he'd thought.

William came up beside him. "You think they were after the weapon parts we stole?"

Five Galra cruisers—the most coordinated attack they'd seen in nearly a year.

"No," Lance said. "No, I don't think they were after weapon parts at all."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long since the last update. Things got a little crazy. I was halfway across the country when the travel bans started going up, and my sister was overseas, so between getting myself and her home, things have been pretty chaotic. I hope this chapter makes up for my absence.
> 
> I hope everyone is doing okay in this time of crisis <3

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr as biplet!


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